Scarecrow
by AngieT
Summary: Old crimes come back to haunt Pippin.


Edited by the Illiterate Hill Troll.

Pippin closed the door of the Inn behind him and stepped out into the night. He shivered a little to be leaving the bright lights and warmth of the Inn though it was only mid September and a warm night. He could still hear the noise, but muffled now, behind sturdy oak.

Pippin looked up to the sky where the first stars were starting to peek through. There was a beautiful slim moon above the trees which peeked coyly at him from around shredded wisps of clouds like gauzy veils over a shy face.

Pippin shook his head; he was waxing lyrical in his old age. He would be a tween in a few more years. Far too young to be sounding so old, and Frodo-like.

To prove the point Frodo had been too stuck into a pile of musty old books to come out to the Inn with Pippin tonight and the youngest Took had been forced to go by himself. He did not really mind, he had met a few friends in the Inn and made a few more. There was plenty of time to liven Frodo up in the morning. Pip intended to stay a good few days yet and enjoy the environs of Hobbiton to its full.

It was with this aim in mind he had offered to act as delivery boy and bring Frodo his bequest from Great Uncle Merrickman. Not for a moment that he had thought Frodo would be eagerly anticipating the chest of old Mathoms but Pearl was having one of her love affairs and getting as far away as possible from such events was always a wise option. Pearl's love affairs were loud stormy things – one moment she was head over heels and the next refusing to even hear the lads name mentioned. Luckily Pip was never in a position to mention the current lads name, as he could never remember which of the succession of beaus Pearl was setting her cap at this time. It all seemed a ghastly business to him.

Uncle Merrickman had died just a scant ten days ago. Never in the history of Mathoms hoarding had such a collection been uncovered when his smial came to be cleared. There were whole rooms devoted to hideous vases and who knows what. Uncle Merrickman's Will had also proved to be as labyrinthine. The lists of bequests went into seventeen pages alone. Pippin thought it must be a kind of revenge as Uncle Merrickman – crotchety, bad tempered and as mean as a miser had not been the most popular neighbour in Tuckbrough. In death the old man wanted to make sure he foisted as much rubbish as he possibly could upon his 'nearest and dearest'.

Pip had his own reasons for wanting to be away from the Great Smials at the moment, apart from wanting to escape both the sorting and Pearl Pippin, and had hastily offered to deliver a dilapidated old chest which had rather surprisingly turned up with Frodo's name on it. For once this had seemed an almost thoughtful gift as the top layer had been found to contain books. Then the spines had been perused and the sting discovered – "Pig breeding in the Marrish", "Vine weevils, their track, trails and signs," '101 Ways to cure Ague" and suchlike were hardly likely to appeal to the Elvish Scholar Baggins. Still they had been padded out with old clothing and marked for delivery to Hobbiton. Uncle Merrickman had been a well known despiser of books and loved nothing more than to catch tweens reading such 'Rot and Rubbish!' and 'Ruining their eyes and their brains – those that had any with such a useless pastime' and 'Could they not be in the fields helping out instead of sitting on their bums wasting time.' Frodo, in visits to his Took relations, had fallen foul of just such rebukes many a time and had become quite skittish about daring to open even the most inconspicuous volume of poetry within a mile of Tuckbough.

So, Pippin had sent eh trunk delivered, and headed down to the Inn to take the taste of dusty tomes out of his mouth leaving Frodo happily sorting.

Great Uncle Merrickman had one redeeming feature – his plum trees. As sour as the old man the plums were as sweet. His half dozen trees were remarkable in their profusion of fruit and come late August the smell of the ripening harvest could be smelt whenever the prevailing wind was favourable.

These plums had been the bane of Pippin's young life. As mushrooms were to Frodo, and apples to Merry, so were plums to Pippin. He loved the firm ripe fruit with its beautiful colours and warm, fresh picked skins. He loved the scent that seemed to summon up all things that were so perfect about Summer afternoons. He loved sinking his teeth in and discovering the individual taste of each fruit, whether slightly firm still, or bursting with juice which ran down his chin. How he longed for those plums. They tormented him. If the wind was right the smell of the orchard wafted in at his bedroom window of mornings when he lay in late and woke him from plum-filled dreams by tickling his nose until it twitched.

And of course, the one thing he was not allowed was Merrickman's plums. Goodness only knows what the old hobbit did with the bounty – he must live off plum jam, plum pies, and plum wine all year round to use them up himself.

Chief amongst Great Uncle Merrickman's hatreds – and there were many – in fact nothing seemed to please him to the point where hobbits seeming him on the road ahead would quickly remember an errand elsewhere and take another path, or hid in the bushed until the querulous old hobbit had passed to avoid his tirades – were small boys. (Luckily Merrickman was easy to spot. Sometime in his dim and distance youth a brief fashion had arisen for tall decorated hats amongst male gently hobbits. Merrickman had taken to this fashion and was briefly famous and much envied for his fine tall top hat. The hat had once been of beautiful glossy black velvet, a good ten inches tall from brim to top and sporting in one side the ultimate in current fashion of plovers feathers. It was possible Great Uncle Merrickman had been quite the dandy in his day if you could believe such a thing. Legend had it that Merrickman had set his heart on a Took lass. He courted her and gave her gifts and in the proper course of time asked for her hand but she had turned him down flat in favour of a richer relation. As the years passed, unfortunately fashion and youth had left Merrickman slowly behind and all he had to show for his days as a rake was the hat – which he persisted in wearing for the next 60 years. It was an utter monstrosity. Now the hat, like its wearer, was somewhat the worse for wear; it was now of a dull appearance, threadbare in places, the top had become rather squashed in on one side and the plovers feathers bent to one side. Still, it served its purpose, and those wanting to avoid the grumpy old hobbit could see him from quite a distance and so take up diversionary tactics and get themselves away.)

Anyway the well-known fact was that Merrickman hated children and had a particular aversion to boys. Boys were the cause of all evil in the Shire. They were too loud, too rude, ran about too much, ate too much, threw too much, stole too much, destroyed too much and occasionally read too much. Boys should be thrashed on sight as if they were not doing something naughty at the time they were no doubt planning it. The only use for boys, Uncle Merrickman expounded to anyone who was unfortunate enough, not fast enough, or a little short sighted, were to use them for scarecrows. Nothing pleased Merrickman more than to see a nice field of a growing crop with several boys in it acting as scarecrows. He could stand and watch all day, especially if the weather was hot, from under the shade of his top hat, and enjoy the sight of several boys having to run backwards and forwards in the fields scaring off the crows. As a boy with a hot and red face would stagger by he would shout encouragement and chuckle to himself. It did nothing to increase his popularity.

Pippin's own downfall came over those plums. He craved those plums with every fibre of his being and the month of September was a torment to him as he could see, and smell the fruit depending from their overladen branches beckoning to him with their warm, sweet promise. They drove him quite to distraction – in fact – to such distraction that every year without fail he would make an attempt upon those trees.

/Pippin shook his head at the memory as he passed by a snug cottage, its windows sending circles of light out into the night. This would be the last dwelling until he reached Bag Shot row on the Hill proper. He picked up his pace, frowning into the darkness at his memories which now came crowding in to tweak at his conscience. If only he had not gone plum scrumping this year./

Under cover of night would of course have been the best time to go stealing plums. But for Pippin half the joy of the fruit was it being sun warmed on the branch. A cold plum was just a bit of fruit but a sun warmed stolen plum from Merrickman's trees was utter bliss. He had been on the watch all morning and waited until the hideous hat with its bent feathers had appeared atop its owners head as he closed his front door behind him and set out for his morning constitutional.

For just this moment had Pippin been preparing and prepared very well he was. He had a small satchel swung over his body for his ill-gotten gains and he was in disguise. If the awful happened and he was spotted the best thing would be to run, in the opposite direction from Great Smials and, to add to his diversion, he was wearing a dress and a pretty forget me not sprigged bonnet. Dresses were not the best attire for plum stealing but Pippin decided, if he was to be caught he wanted as much confusion as possible between himself and discovery. If Merrickman saw a girl running away in the direction of the woods he might not think to connect the theft to the Young Master Pippin of the Great Smials.

Not that running away was Pip's intention unless he came to the worst. He wanted to sit under the largest of the plum trees and feed himself with freshly plucked fruit until he could eat no more.

And this was just what he set about doing.

/Pippin crossed the path and took the short cut around the side of the hill up to Bag End that would take him behind the Gamgee's dwelling in the Row. Of a sudden he wanted to get back to the comfort of Bag End and the companionship of his cousin./

But the Pip of his memory followed him, poking at his guilty conscience with a stick.

The Pip of that Summer day had sat beneath the plum tree and eaten his plums. He had eaten lots of plums, in fact, he ate far too many of them and a full belly and a warm summers day with the drone of bees in an orchard have a great soporific effect and the next thing he knew he was being woken up by the sounds of movement, very close and muttering.

"I know you're in here you young rapscallion. I have you now. You won't be able to walk for a week once my cane has finished with you."

Pippin was wide awake in a half second and scrambling to his feet, completely forgetting his long skirt, which tangled around his knees and brought him crashing down again.

"There you are!" There was such triumph in the voice. Pip knew he was done for now.

In the twilight of the late evening the fearful hat came first in to view, the plovers feathers waving like admonishing fingers; the squash in the side of the hat seemed to form a leering mouth which was twisted at him in glee at his capture. Beneath it came into view Great Uncle Merrickman's face and it was awful to see.

The two set eyes upon each other, the frightened young hobbit on the orchards leaf-strewn floor and the triumphant bad tempered old hobbit. And everything froze around them.

Pippin tried to struggle to his feet but was effectively hog-tied by his purloined dress. He made it half way when the bonnet became dislodged and fell half over his face and he reached up to push it aside. In that moment Merrickman's face changed utterly. The old hobbit staggered back as though a blow had been struck him, he gasped and clutched at his chest. The expression on his face was one of utter amazement, astonishment and … joy?

"Lilly?" the voice quavered. "Is that ye lass? Have ye returned to me after all these years my Lilly Took?"

Pippin gaped in horror.

Merrickman staggered forwards a step and reached out to the lad. "Lilly, my dearest love. To see you again…."

Thoroughly unnerved Pippin had uttered a high-pitched shriek, lifted his skirts in both hands and run for it as fast as he possibly could. The voice calling "Lilly, Lilly Took my Love!" seemed to pursue him. He forgot all his plans of running in the opposite direction and made straight for his room, where he flung himself under the bed and refused to come out until second breakfast.

So it was that he did not hear the commotion about the place, and did not learn until hunger drove him out for second breakfast that Great Uncle Merrickman had been found by the postman, lying under the great plum tree in the orchard, stone dead and with a smile of his face which made him quite look 40 years younger.

"And twas the very tree," whispered one of the kitchen maids, "Where tis said he proposed to Mistress Lilly Took all them years ago."

It was decided he died of heart failure due old age, but what was the wonder of it was the look on his face, such peace and contentment and such a smile as though he had looked upon his dearest wish again.

"I remember Lilly," Pip had over-heard his mother talking on the day of the funeral. "Such a sweet pretty lass. Green eyes and cinnamon curls. Our Pip lad quite takes after her in looks for all he's a lad."

And Pippin had slunk away and been rather sick and when the first chance came, in the form of a trip to Hobbiton, he had taken it.

Now, coming up to Bag End he seemed to smell again the warm scent of the ripe fruit and hear echoing in his mind the calling voice with its refrain of; "Lilly, Lilly Took my Love!"

At that moment the moon decided to once more show her face from behind the clouds and quite lit up the surrounding area. Pippin was in the lower gardens where the more unattractive crops were kept, leeks and potatoes; a little further up were the raspberry canes, now mostly empty and waiting for be cropped back for next year.

Pippin looked over their ragged heads to the welcoming windows of Bag End and his breath froze in his throat at what he saw. Unmistakable! Coming at him from around the canes was Uncle Merrickman – the hobbit Pippin had freighted into his grave.

Even now Pippin could see that inimitable hat – its waving fingers and leering mouth. No! It was not possible! From beyond his resting place the old hobbit was coming for his revenge.

'Lilly, Lilly Took my Love!' Pippin heard.

Arms were reaching out for him, swaying closer!

Routed to the spot with absolute terror Pippin drew as much breath into his lungs past his racing heart and screamed for all he was worth!

His scream tore the night asunder but did not block out the calling in his head. 'Lilly, Lilly Took my Love.'

Doors were thrown open. A large circle of light from Bag End and then a lamp running towards him, at least one other from below. Samwise Gamgee calling, "Who's there? What's the to do?"

They found him, pale and shaking, and surrounded him with little circles of light and concerned faces. Pippin could only stammer, and point – and Frodo lifted his lantern, to illuminate the scarecrow, redressed this very evening by Sam in the discarded clothing used as packing from the trunk of books.

The end


End file.
